The mad dogs and Englishmen Affair
by paganchic
Summary: A regular day ends with an unexpected event that may well change Illya forever. Will Napoleon find him in time?
1. Chapter 1

**"Yes Illya, faster!" He hiked her skirt up and pushed her against the wall. Her fingernails dug through the shoulder pads of his jacket as he rode her to ecstasy. She gasped as the orgasm rocked her tiny frame. The button on the desk began to beep that someone was approaching. Illya thrust a final time as his own climax hit. Napoleon sauntered into reception. She sat behind the desk typing idly while Illya sat on the edge of the desk clipping his identification badge to his breast pocket. **

**"Good morning, Jane." he smiled leaning over the desk. She rose to meet him and clipped his badge on. "Good morning Mr. Solo." Illya offered him a brief nod, "Napoleon." he then winked at the girl behind the desk. Napoleon chuckled at the futile gesture, "what have you been doing to this poor girl Illya, her face is all flushed." He walked through the door to Mr Waverly's office. Jane giggled. The Russian leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips. She caught his arm as he turned to leave and popped her panties in his jacket pocket. **

**"Mr Kuryakin. Nice of you to join us." Waverly sat behind his desk brow furrowed. Napoleon smirked, "You're only embarrassing yourself with that girl. She'd never go out with you, Illya." Illya raised his hands in surrender, "Perhaps not." **

**"If you'll kindly pay attention, gentlemen a most pressing matter has arisen. It seems that not only Thrush is bent on world domination. We are facing a threat that we have never witnessed before. An underworld figure known as 'the Mongrel' has recently emerged and is threatening civilisation as we know it. Illya, what is that in your pocket?" Illya looked up like a deer in headlights. He yanked his hand out of his pocket, "my handkerchief." Waverly looked at Napoleon in exasperation then back to him, "well stop playing with it at once and pay attention."**

"**In the last few months' money, weapons, stocks and bonds have gone missing from some of the most secure facilities on the planet. Scientists from around the world with interests in every possible subject have gone missing for weeks on end and been returned without so much as a scratch. Memory intact and able to report to us the work they have been forced to do. The only detail they cannot give us is who captured them. Not once in their weeks of captivity did they glance another person who was not a scientist. It is a very odd matter. They were looked after well. There is no pattern, no rhyme or reason. It is our job to discover what these mad dogs are up to, who their leader is and ultimately disband or destroy them. Yes, Napoleon?" **

**Napoleon rose from his chair his brow creased in confusion, "mad dogs sir?" Waverly sat down and lit his pipe. "Yes. When I said there was no pattern I was misleading you slightly, I apologise. The only pattern is that all kidnapped subjects, monetary transfers and returns of these subjects took place at midday in the local area." Napoleon's brow furrowed in confusion, he looked to Illya for an answer. Illya smirked, "only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun." Napoleon pondered it, "If this syndicate has been working so efficiently for the better part of two months why are we hearing about it now." Waverly stood tall, defensive, "we have been monitoring things for some time. I have only recently decided to disclose this information to my most trusted agents. I trust I have not been mistaken." Napoleon looked at Illya's smirk, the question was clearly rhetorical.**

**Napoleon sipped his coffee in the cafe. "Where do we start when we have nothing to go on?" Illya shrugged, sipping his tea and looking around, "we could pick an English person at random and accost them. They say that everyone in the world is related via six degrees of separation." Solo chuckled as a small black puppy ran up to him. He stopped laughing when it bit his ankle and ran off. A young blonde woman ran behind it. She was in tears. "Prince! Come back! Oh sir I'm so terribly sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him." Napoleon got to his feet and flashed his award winning smile, "Now miss. Don't you worry in the slightest. My dear friend Mr Kuryakin here has a special understanding with dogs. He'll rescue your puppy. Why don't you join me here until he returns." Illya scowled as he stood up. He looked into the blonde girl's blue eyes and his scowl disappeared. She batted her eyelashes at him, "oh thank you sir. If anything happened to Prince I'm not sure what I'd do." "Don't you fret miss. I will not return until I find him." he dabbed at her eyes with his handkerchief, he kissed her hand watching Solo seethe from the corner of his eye. He took off jogging in the direction of the puppy. He stopped around the block. He hated dogs but the girl was very pretty with a beauty spot on her left cheek. She had even smiled at him before Solo. Napoleon turned to the girl when Illya disappeared around the corner, "he's very dedicated. now that's a beautiful accent, where did you say you were from?" she blushed, "England. Do you have the time? I must be meeting my uncle. Any moment now." Napoleon looked at his watch, "it's five minutes to twelve. Are you meeting your uncle somewhere close? Perhaps I could escort you" she stood up in alarm knocking over Illya's empty cup. "Oh I'm very late. I don't suppose you could phone me at my apartment when your friend finds my puppy, I'll come and pick him up and pay all expenses. I don't want to seem ungrateful but simply I must keep this appointment." Napoleon nodded, "of course." she handed him a slip of paper and kissed his cheek before running off in the direction of the puppy and Illya. Napoleon touched his cheek absently, her lipstick graced it. He paid the bill and sighed as he walked down the street, "a beautiful girl like that with an appointment with her uncle at midday." he stopped dead and turned towards the block corner. He pulled all the papers from his pockets and threw them down on the pavement. The note from the girl was not a telephone number. **_**'Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. The Mongrel.'**_** "Illya!" he pulled out his radio, "clear channel d find Illya Kuryakin."**

**Illya four and half blocks away scooped up the tired puppy and turned to head back when his radio alarmed. "Kuryakin here. Proceed." A sharp blow to the back of his neck and he fell to the ground. His eyes darted to his watch, it was midday. **

**Static answered Napoleon's frantic calling. He cringed. Waverly was not going to like this. **


	2. Chapter 2

Illya winced. His head was throbbing. He couldn't remember anything but that damn puppy. His arms were bound to his side at the elbow and behind his back at the wrists. His ankles were bound. There was a blindfold on his face and as far as he could feel, he was naked. He rolled to the side to be met with a loud clang. It appeared also that he was in a cage. Now he would have to wait for Solo to rescue him. Again. How embarrassing. He licked his lips and realised he was not gagged. He shouted for help for three hours before his voice was hoarse. He lay on the ground trying to keep warm listening, waiting.

"You want me to send out an urgent apprehension order to all agents for a pretty blonde English girl between the ages of 17 and 25." Alexander Waverly was usually a patient man but this was not a usual day. Napoleon nodded weakly, "yes sir." He slammed his pipe on the table making Napoleon jump and scattering shreds of tobacco across the table. "Damn it. Agent Kuryakin was one of our top men and you, another top agent, sent him after a puppy for a pretty girl!" Napoleon slowly got out of his chair, "I'll find him, sir." Waverly swept the tobacco off the table into his open palm, "You'd better, Mr Solo. there's no telling what these mad dogs will do to an U.N.C.L.E. agent... if Mr Kuryakin is still alive."

Illya lay awake in darkness. He assumed it must be night but with the blindfold it was hard to be certain, "Is anyone there?" he croaked. No reply. He shivered and wished for his clothes. A door creaked open. "Hello? I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. I was helping a young woman find her puppy when..." He was silenced by a boot to the gut. He coughed and remained quiet. He was wrenched into a sitting position on a wooden chair. He could feel the grain of the wood beneath his legs. Suddenly there was a rush of steam and he smelt food. Roast beef and vegetables. His mouth watered but he couldn't eat it, what if it was drugged or poisoned? He felt a spoon of warm food pressed to his lips. He turned his head away. He received a hard slap across the face for his troubles. He accepted the next mouthful gingerly then spat it to the side with as much force as he could muster. He was knocked from the chair. He couldn't tell what was hitting him but it felt almost like a cane of bamboo. Thin, very flexible. He could hear the swish as it sailed through the air before the quick sting followed by a slow burn from his tender flesh. He felt the skin split, blood trickled down his back forming a small puddle on the floor. Every time he turned away or spat the food out, he was beaten, each incidence growing in duration and ferocity. Finally he was yanked to his feet and pushed forward. He could only shuffle in his bonds. His feet touched cold tiles. He was pushed roughly down on cold ceramic bowl, it was a toilet. "A little privacy?" The next backhand caused him to taste blood. He used the toilet facilities reluctantly, he was dragged to his feet once more, pushed against the cold damp stone walls. He yelped when cold water hit his body, he was being hosed down like an animal. Illya hung his head in shame and was shoved back into his cage.


	3. Chapter 3

Napoleon personally followed every lead, every clue. He faced a hundred dead ends. He had not even thought to ask the lady her name. He did not know her town or occupation all he knew was the dog's name was Prince. And that didn't help he had visited the local kennel club and met with one Rottweiler, two king Charles spaniels and a Pekinese all by the name of Prince. Illya's radio, clothes, homing beacon pin and gun were found in the four corners of the U.S. with no further clues. Napoleon sat in his office at the end of the week by the phone willing it to ring with news. He opened a bottle of whisky and starting to drink.

Twice a day Illya was fed, toileted and hosed off without being unbound. His captors moved in silence except for the creaky door and footsteps on the floor, light like an assassin. They never spoke a word to him or each other. He was sure there was more than one. Whenever he spoke he received a hard blow usually across the mouth. He was not sure if it was the silence of his days or the perpetual darkness of the blindfold that bothered him most. No, it was the silence. Though he was quiet and reserved Illya was a very social creature. Not joining the conversation but listening intently. Always listening. He soon stopped trying to communicate. He just lay in the same position where they left him until they visited again when he would receive a harsh beating every time his numb limbs refused to obey him.

Week two. Napoleon staggered into Waverly's office. His shirt was stained and creased. He was unshaven, his tie was absent and above all he was drunk. Alexander stood when he entered the room, took one long look and called security to throw him in a cell to sober up. "I don't like this situation anymore than you do, Mr. Solo but I suggest you find an alternative coping mechanism." Napoleon lay in his cell staring wistfully at his gun on the table in front of him. Felicity the secure unit secretary sat next to it in a small lounge chair reading. The cells were not usually used by agents. Often preferring people to be held in the interrogation rooms or supervised in the apprehending agent's office until such time as they were released or arrested. "Felicity, Sugar pie? I need your help." She did not look up from the dossier she was reading, "I've been instructed by Mr. Waverly not to give you your revolver." Napoleon launched into a bout of swearing like never before. Felicity simply stood up and left. Solo lay on the bunk thinking. English. Between the ages of 17 and 25, blonde, beauty spot on left cheek. Puppy called Prince. Tiny little dog French breed. What was the damn thing called a papoose, a pepper? Papillion. The breed was a Papillion. Female possibly a student. In New York visiting her uncle. No, that had been a trap. Her appointment with her uncle was snatching an U.N.C.L.E. agent at midday. He sat bolt up right and smacked his face on the top bunk. She knew they were U.N.C.L.E. agents she had to have followed them. It had been a pleasant enough day they had walked. Napoleon leapt from the bunk and rattled the bars of the cell. "FELICITY! SUGAR PIE! ANGEL CAKES?" A different young woman entered. "Good afternoon Mr Solo." He smiled his trademark smile, "Mary I have never been so happy to see you! I mean I'm always happy to see you but never like this. I've just had a thought, I." "Did it hurt?" she smirked. He ignored it. "If you can't let me out can you go ask Del Florio if a pretty blonde girl between the ages of 17 and 25 walking a small black Papillion dog, was loitering outside last Monday morning before lunchtime? She had a beauty mark on her left cheek." Mary sighed, rolled her eyes and passed a pen and paper through the bars, "Write it down." Napoleon could barely sit still as he wrote, "You are such an angel. When this is all over I'm taking you to dinner in that nice Italian place on the corner." She nodded, "Yeah, yeah. That's what you say to all the girls here. We all know." She disappeared for the longest 10 minutes of Napoleon's life. She re-entered the room refusing to meet his gaze. "Didn't see her, huh?" She shook her head, she stepped forward shyly. "All the girls on the typing pool and in translation are real sore about Illya, I mean Mr. Kuryakin getting kidnapped. If there's anything we can do?" Napoleon looked up from the ground slowly, "Why are all the girls sore about Illya getting kidnapped?" Mary bit her lip and blushed to her hairpins. Napoleon's jaw dropped. "That sly old fox! I'll kill him. Oh I didn't mean it!" But it was too late Mary had already burst into tears and rushed from the room.

Week three. U.N.C.L.E agents all over the country were on the lookout for Illya Kuryakin. Thrush scientists seized the opportunity and launched an attack on the House of Lords in London causing chaos for a few short hours.

Illya sat in silence eating his roast chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes. This was home cooking that reminded him of his mother. He could feel himself getting fat, he always took such meticulous care of his frame, its present state disgusted him. "Is there a chance of any exercise? I am getting fat." He flinched waiting for the strike. It did not come. Two fingers pinched his midline cruelly feeling the small ridge of fat there. He yelped in pain and the blow came. He did not mention it again. They tightened his blindfold giving him a pounding headache. It was cold in the night, he shivered fearing a fever from his back wounds. "Napoleon" he whispered to the darkness, "Where are you?"

"The attack on London should not have been allowed to take place!" Waverly slammed his fist down on the desk cracking the veneer and jamming the lazy susan. Napoleon stood before his fellow agents, "I take full responsibility for..." another agent stood up, "you couldn't even claim responsibility for Illya, he trusted you and you were off chasing skirt while he was kidnapped!" Several agents shouted their agreement.

"ENOUGH!" Mr Waverly rarely raised his voice. "We are a comprehensive unit. We can not afford to fall apart. There is too much at stake. Now even if Mr Solo was pre occupied. He is not at fault for the taking of Mr Kuryakin. If he is not found by next week we will declare him deceased. I am truly sorry Napoleon but we can't look for him forever. The world continues to be under threat and we must continue to defend it." Napoleon sat down heavily. No one would meet his eyes anymore. Not even the beautiful girls in the office. He didn't notice everyone leave. When he looked up Mr Waverly was handing him a cup of coffee, "talk to me, Napoleon." he sipped his coffee watching Alexander drop a small teabag in the boiling water before him, "I'm not at my best sir. I'm requesting some leave to recuperate and follow my own leads." Alexander raised an eyebrow, "do you have any leads, Napoleon?" he shook his head, "no sir. I don't. was it my fault Illya was taken?" Waverly shook his head, "no Mr Solo I don't believe it was. But the question is, do you believe it was your fault?" Napoleon pushed his cup of coffee away and banged his own head on the table. Waverly stifled a chuckle, "I see. Very well. I'll grant your leave. I'll give you three weeks. Bring him home Mr Solo." Napoleon gave him a small bow before he left. Mary came in to clear the cups, "will he find him sir?" Waverly patted her shoulder, "I do hope so my dear. Or I fear, this will destroy him. Could you get a tracking pin put on him? I would very much like to monitor Mr Solo. Ensure he doesn't walk into a bar and lose his way." Mary nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

Week four. Napoleon sat in his apartment waiting for inspiration to strike. What if the girl were part of Thrush? They had interrogated every Thrush agent regarding Illya with no luck. He himself had walked into Thrush offices all over the country guns blazing with no result. Napoleon settled with a bottle of whiskey and thought it over. The mad dogs? There had to be something about them. He looked at the bottle only just opened it would be a shame to let good spirits go to waste, he would check in the morning.

Illya could feel the rope burns on his wrists throbbing. He was sure they were infected, he couldn't smell gangrene but he was sure it was only a matter of time. His blindfold was cutting into his head he was sure of it. No. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. So many days of silence and beatings, cold water hosing and darkness were getting to him. His resolve growing weak, Illya began to sob quietly. It felt so good to let the hot tears flow he hadn't cried this way since he was a child though many times he had wanted to. He whimpered when the door opened. "Please. No more. Just let me die. I'm so tired. I can't take anymore." He whimpered again when he heard the footsteps approach. His face burned with shame. U.n.c.l.e. secret agent Illya Kuryakin bound and blindfolded, naked in a cage and crying, literally crying for mercy at the feet of his captors. If he'd had his gun he would have shot himself to avoid such disgrace. He was dragged from the cage whimpering and sobbing. He felt himself being turned over to his stomach, someone inspecting his wrists, his ankles turning them over roughly to the limits the ropes would allow. Blindfolded he lifted his face towards a flash of warm breath. "Mercy?" he whispered.

Illya was wrenched to his feet. His ankles were untied. He yelped as some skin tore away along the grain of the ropes. Feeling the blood run down his legs was not helpful to his fragile mental state. His legs stiff and shaky marched him onward, though where he was, he could not tell. He was still nude he knew that much and he was now outside. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, alternately the cool breeze on his face. The dried blood caked on his back. The stiff movements of his muscles around his bruises. The warm fresh blood around his ankles. He was half pushed half dragged into a house and left standing in a room seemingly alone. He heard their footsteps leave and the door close and lock. He stayed perfectly still. His legs had not moved properly in a month they were on fire, pins and needles up and down. Blood trickling. The open wounds stinging but he would not risk another beating. He would beg and plead and scream if it prevented more pain. He stood for one hour, then his legs gave up and he collapsed to his knees with a pitiful howl as the now delicate skin split on the marble floor. He cried again pressing his forehead to the floor and rocking. "Just kill me. Just kill me." He sobbed over and over.

Napoleon woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He radioed in channel d for all information on the mad dogs. She promised to report back in one hour. Napoleon hung up and then threw up.


	5. Chapter 5

Illya knelt in a pool of his own blood for over an hour when a gloved hand touched his shoulder and he pulled away sharply falling to the floor in a vain attempt to escape the cruel touch, "Please don't hurt me. I'll tell you whatever you want to know." The hand pulled him to his feet and half-dragged him into another room. He was assisted into a concrete box and pushed into a sitting position. Scalding hot water was thrown on him. He struggled to get out of the box. He was struck hard across the face for his efforts several times until he was still. His jaw throbbed. He sucked over his teeth checking for loose ones. Small mercies. Another bucket of water was dumped on him. More and more. When the water reached his chest he suddenly became hysterical, "Not drowning, No! Anything but drowning! Please God in Heaven!" The water stopped. He waited in the darkness picturing the laughing faces of many henchmen. Someone untied his wrists under the water gently. The skin melted off with the ropes. He let out a scream which immediately quieted itself to a whimper following four weeks of brutal retribution for noise. Soft hands stroked his hair and removed his blindfold. His eyes were blurred terribly following weeks of darkness. He could only make out the light from the dark, the moving shapes around him were not easing his nerves. It suggested a room full of people, all of whom silent, watching, waiting. A flannel washcloth wiped the grime from his face the soft fabric catching on the stubble of a month without a razor. He could feel himself trembling. Nothing would steady his hands even under the water they shook uncontrollably. Warm water poured over his shoulders, ran down in rivulets over his chest, warm soft hands pinched and kneaded his shoulders and neck. The knots in his back slowly releasing, the tension of the last days was seeping away. The hands appeared on his chest pushing him back against the side of the tub. Illya laid down slightly, semi-relaxing in what he now realised was a hot bath, still trembling violently totally unwilling to let down his guard. Someone washed the blood from his wrists, knees, back and ankles. Someone with a tender gentle touch. He knew he did not know his captors but he felt safe with this one, well safer. Illya moaned softly, "I'm dead. They have killed me." His eyes were taking a long time to un-blur. The washcloth scrubbed his body so gently he thought he might finally sleep, finally succumb to the exhaustion he had fought for so long. Sleeping in the cage was not restful, it was merely a way to pass the time. Fingernails scraped gently along the soles of his feet, he recoiled abruptly from the tickle. The fingernails traced little circles along his calves, behind his knees. Illya squirmed. He looked around in panic, still the blurs of light and dark moved around him. The fatigue had overcome him totally, he couldn't lift his arms. Never before had he felt so weak, so vulnerable. He thrashed from side to side in the narrow tub unable to escape yet unwilling to submit. The fingers moved ever upward stroking his thighs. Dangerously slow circles, the feather-light touch. He yelped as they closed around his member. The fingertips dragged over his shaft exciting him beyond his control. He whimpered in fright. He had heard dreadful tales of Thrush torturers arousing U.N.C.L.E. agents then castrating them in the fashion of Chinese eunuchs before climax. (Dull knives removing all external pieces then plugging the wound with hot candle wax.) He shuddered, it wouldn't kill him but it would make life very unpleasant. The fingers were deft and experienced. Illya felt a cold shiver run through his body despite the heat of the water. He still couldn't see, damn these eyes, they'd never failed him before. The hands could belong to a man. Terrible thoughts forced themselves into his mind. What if he was being kept alive as a plaything for one of those types of men, the men that favoured the intimate company of other men? He shuddered again but this time not through dread. The fingers increased their pace. He gave a soft murmur of pleasure unable to resist the allure of human contact. He gave a small cry as orgasm swept his broken body. He sat blind in the hot water panting. His face flushed in humiliation, tears welling in his foggy eyes. He dreaded the next action of his captors. He didn't have long to wait. He smelt the shampoo before it touched his scalp something floral that smelt like home, he moaned when it touched him. Fingers stroking through his hair soothing his brain. Deeper, rubbing away his cares. He hadn't realised how sore his body had been in the one position for all that time. The gentle caresses were heavenly. His body screamed for the soft touch he had been denied. He didn't want them to end. He realised that no one had spoken to him still, "Please. I know there is someone there. Please speak to me. I haven't heard a voice in so long. Shout and scream for all I care but make noise I beg you." There was no reply. He sighed, hung his head, hot salty tears running down his face once more.

"Would you like to have a sleep, Illya? In a soft warm plush bed? I'll let the water out of the bath and see to your wounds if you like?" His head whipped to the right. It was a woman, English judging by the accent. Her voice so rounded and golden he could hear her smiling. He smiled back to the blurry figure a single tear down his cheek. "I- I would like that very much." The water disappeared with a gurgle. He was patted dry with soft, soft towels. His head was lolling. He was trying so hard to stay awake. Desperate to see who this girl was. His wounds were dressed by her expertly. She helped him into bed. The warm water had made his legs relax and he was having trouble standing. He smelt her perfume when she took half his weight and assisted him under the covers, vanilla and cinnamon. He blushed though he stared ahead blindly, "Miss, I still have no clothes on. It is very improper for you to be here unchaperoned." She giggled. "What's the matter Illya Kuryakin? Will you take advantage of me? Do you think I'll take advantage of you again in your weakened state? Although you wouldn't put up much of a fight like this." She slid her hand up the inside of his thigh and gave his testicles a tickle to illustrate her point. He jumped, "I am afraid I am so exhausted I could not possibly be taken advantage of if I wanted to. Not again." He felt something cold and hard on his throat, he lifted one heavily bandaged arm. "What- what is this?" She laughed again. "Call it a safety precaution." She snuggled into his chest and in no time was asleep. Illya was trying to sleep but at the same time remain unmolested. Her breath was tickling his chest stirring the hair there. His eyelids were heavy, her scent so sweet and her body was warm. Illya slept and slept well.

Napoleon woke up to hear his radio beeping, "Napoleon Solo. Go ahead."

"Good morning Mr Solo. An information sheet is being sent to you by courier 9 regarding the mad dogs and their leader, the Mongrel. Any luck so far Napoleon? "

He smiled, "no April. No luck yet." Napoleon sniffed his shirt and went for a shower.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Illya woke to the smell of pancakes and coffee. He rolled over and admired the portrait on the wall before he realised he could see. The thick golden frame was typical of the 18th century portraits of the French aristocracy. The full length painting showed the girl in modern dress but it was clearly painted to an 1800's romantic ideal. He realised who the portrait was of. He got out of bed and stared in amazement. It was the girl with the lost puppy. He sat on the bed and shook his head in disbelief. RATTLE. The noise startled him. His hands flew to his throat. He had a heavy metal collar on it was attached to the wall by a thick chain. That must have been what she had put on him last night. Last night. He turned. The bed was empty. The door opened and he pulled the sheets around his waist covering his nakedness. She walked in wearing a short pink tennis dress. "I do hope you'll forgive me Illya but my coach is very strict." She laid the racquet down and sat at her mirror on the other side of the room thirty feet away. Illya caught his own reflection, he was clean shaven. He must have slept very deeply indeed. She slipped out of her dress behind the screen and walked towards him in a flimsy satin robe. She was looking at his body. Illya didn't like that look, it was very predatory for a young girl. He backed up against the wall, and raised one hand, "Now Miss. I am very grateful for your rescue but I must get back to u.n.c.l.e and let them know I am ok." "Rescue?" She stopped walking towards him and almost keeled over laughing, "Illya, I thought you were smarter than that. I had you kidnapped, mistreated and broken. These are necessary steps, you will understand. Your organisation has already stopped looking for you. They stopped weeks ago. They've already declared you dead." Illya dropped the sheets in disbelief. He sat back on the bed. "Weeks? How long was I in that Hell?" She smirked at him, knelt before him. Illya's face was a mask of confusion. He failed to notice her soft, lips closing in. She kissed up his thigh. Her fingers stroking him. Illya moaned as the blood rushed to his groin. She took most of his length into her warm, wet mouth. Her fingers stroking what remained outside. Her tongue teasing the throbbing head. Illya whimpered at the waves of pleasure coursing through his body. He gripped the sheets of the bed moaning. She released her lips and pushed him backwards onto the bed. She climbed on top of him. Slowly lowering herself down. The blonde Russian's eyes rolled back in his head. She moaned feeling him fill her. His eyes fixed on her breasts rising and falling beneath the satin. His body protested, yearning for control. He fought it, thrusting slowly to match her body's tempo. He let out a deep growl. She was so wet and tight. Her movements became more frantic, her moans turned to gasps. Illya was blinded again by the pleasure he fought to keep up the pace. She bucked forward whimpering. Illya slowly thrust feeling her muscles ripple around him. When he was sure she could take no more friction he relaxed allowing his orgasm to paralyse him. She lay next to him gasping. "How long were you here? Four weeks. You were the strongest one yet, Illya. I almost stopped them feeding you. I need someone strong to stand beside me... to lie beside me. You should feel honoured that I chose you. So strong, so handsome and charming. And yet by the end you begged for mercy screaming and crying like them all. But Mr. Kuryakin they only lasted a week." His playful smile dissolved into a tight lipped snarl of hate, "YOU PUT ME THROUGH THAT INTENTIONALLY! YOU EVIL TWO FACED ...did you say lie beside you? You can't mean..." She tilted her head and looked up at him, "You don't know who I am. Do you, Mr Kuryakin?" He shook his head wrapping his arms around her. "My name was Katherine Cooper. But you may know me as the Mongrel. I'm taking over the world. I've seen your dossier and your work in the field. It's very impressive. You can stow that look of defiance. I don't want you to work for me. Not in the field anyway." She sat on the bed beside him and handed him a pair of shorts, she turned her face away allowing him at least that much privacy to slip the shorts on. "It's, um... very lonely at the top of a major crime organisation, Mr Kuryakin. But I do enjoy my work. In my position I have to be very careful who I take into my confidence, my employment and into my bed. I have had lovers try to poison me, stab me while I sleep and sabotage the brake lines of my car. I devised this ordeal as a test for them. So far no one but you has passed. When I saw you I knew I had to have you. If you refuse me you go back into the pit. One meal a day and second hourly hosing with ice water until you die of exposure or pneumonia. However if you stay by me, you will have luxury until you die or until I am overthrown with ever happens first. I am a realist after all. Gourmet chefs cooking the finest foods on demand at all hours just for you. Tailored suits from Italy. Private masseuse from Sweden. Everything your heart desires. I can see you are used to the finer things or is it... that you would like to be? " She glanced at her watch, "Excuse me. I have to drop off the latest scientist and it's two hours to town by car. I must be there by twelve. If you require anything in my absence. Ring the bell beside the bed. The maid will bring you any nourishment you require or any clothing that makes you feel more at home. You will only get one chance to make this decision. Think carefully my love." She blew him a kiss and walked out of the room. Illya lay back on the bed, "A lifetime of luxury and crime or integrity followed by slow and painful death in the pit. Why are the pretty ones always insane?" **_

_**Napoleon opened the report from the courier and followed him back down to his car, "are you returning to u.n.c.l.e?" the kid nodded. "Take me with you I've had a little bit too much to drink." Napoleon bolted up the stairs three at a time and bowled into Alexander Waverly's office. "Sir this is very urgent! I may have a promising lead on Illya's kidnapper." he leaned backward out of the office, "April, where is Mr Waverly? this is very urgent." she strolled up to him, "I'm afraid he's out of town on business. Can I redirect you." he shook his head, "no. I need him to authorise a few things to rescue Illya." her face brightened, "Illya! Oh I'd be glad to help. if there's anything I can do?" he stared at her, "oh April. Not you too? You seem like such a nice girl." she shrugged. "Don't be so uptight Napoleon this is the sixties. The girls in the typing pool will want to help too. Between all thirty of us we could bring down u.n.c.l.e if we wanted. I mean we know everything that goes on. All the access codes and everything." Napoleon looked surprised, "I'm thrilled by your enthusiasm, if you are planning to bring down u.n.c.l.e. wait until I go on holiday. now what I need... did you say thirty of you?" she nodded, "the girls from the typing pool, translation and all the secretaries." she blushed, "you see he um... takes one girl out every night that he's in New York. Dinner, dancing and uh... home entertainment." Napoleon's face was totally blank, "bastard! I'm tempted to leave him there." she straightened up. "he's not like you Napoleon. He always calls the next day and he sends flowers. and if he's out of the state when it's your day he sends chocolates. if he's out of the country he sends jewellery." she stroked a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet absently. Napoleon applauded, "I'm definitely rescuing him now so that I can kill him myself. Though to tell you the truth, I've always wondered where his salary goes. Back to business. Here is a list of the clearance I need and the access codes for these. I'd like all agents made aware of this young woman. Her name is Katherine cooper. I believe she is Illya's kidnapper and her photo has been in this file all along. I'd also like my gun back. it's in Waverly's safe." she shook her head. "You don't know the combination to Waverly's safe?" she shoved him, "of course I do. it's actually in my desk though." **_

_**He flashed her that smile and ran to the garage. "bring him back alive, Napoleon!" he offered a friendly wave, "he's no good to me dead." **_


	7. Chapter 7

Illya lay dozing on the plush bed. He had walked the boundary of his chain and accomplished nothing but eating the breakfast left for him. Thick pancakes with sweet syrup and coffee. A black turtle neck sweater, decent underpants and dark trousers had been left for him during one of his naps. The maid had brought him a ham sandwich for lunch with a glass of milk. She had seemed upset that a sandwich was all he asked for. He sighed as he stretched out all his limbs as far as they would go. He could get used to this very easily, too easily. That was part of the allure he supposed and having a beautiful, enthusiastic girl like this one for a lover. Thinking about her made his loins stir. She was very shapely, confident, and wealthy. Evil his mind threw the word to the front, evil Illya. Like Thrush but worse. This one was succeeding in taking over the world because, he reasoned, she treated people well and kept them happy. Then released them as she said she would. Actually that last part bothered him. He thought of other things she said she'd do. Slow death in the pit if he did not consent to be her lover he grinned to himself, there were worse things than being the bedroom slave of a pretty girl bent on global domination. The door opened. He leapt to his feet the collar yanked him back again. She smiled in a burnt orange sun dress. "Illya. Have you considered my proposal?" he got to his feet gingerly, he winced as he spoke. "You'll have to throw me back in the pit. I cannot stay here, living in this bourgeois lifestyle while my friends and the world suffers." she nodded her bright smile fading quickly from her face. "I guess I cannot expect anything more from you. This is why I chose you after all. Your dedication to your cause." she began to cry. Illya looked away, now he felt terrible. She was so lonely and beautiful. He moved forward as far as his chain would allow to hold her. She swatted his hands away but he caught one of her wrists and pulled her to his chest. Comforting her whether she liked it or not. She pressed her body against his. Her soft pink lips kissed his neck. He gritted his teeth feeling his loins grow tight. "Illya? If this is your choice. Will you make love to me once more? I need you. I'm so lonely. All I want is your touch for a while." he cringed. His conscience set into overdrive. Yes he was a dedicated womaniser but this woman desperately needed someone. She would kill him after any exertions slowly and he would definitely die in an attempt to escape. She kissed him on the lips this time. So softly, so chastely. Her fingers worrying the waistband of his pants. Illya pulled away from her. "Katherine. If all you want is my touch. I will lie by your side and hold you. But I will not make love to you and then walk away. I am not incapable of feeling. Would you like me to hold you for a while?" she smiled through her tears. "I would like that very much." he smiled and bowed, led her to the bed by the hand and climbed in beside her. He covered them both with the bedspread. She rolled over and slept with her head on his heart. Illya smiled stroking her hair while she slept. It would be nice to have a wife to share his bed but he could be killed at any time. He would never put any one through that pain. In fact if he had known what distress his disappearance had caused throughout the office at u.n.c.l.e he would have been terribly ashamed.

Napoleon caught the next flight to England. He was checking through his paperwork when he felt himself being watched. His hand rested on the gun in his shoulder holster. Suddenly he turned and met the deep brown eyes of a young lady. "Oh I'm terribly sorry sir. I didn't mean to spy over your shoulder but the address you have on those letters is the one I'm visiting." she pulled a letter out of her purse. "My great aunt Katherine recently passed away you see and I'm visiting her estate for the reading of the will. Are you related to Madame Cooper?" Napoleon covered his gun with his jacket. He broke into his smile, "well now that you mention it my um U.N.C.L.E. was very close to her once... but she got away." the young lady looked up, "I beg your pardon?" "Nothing." Napoleon shook his head in dismissal. "Won't you join me?"

Illya woke with a start. He hadn't meant to fall asleep again. But he seemed to have slept through the night. The young lady was gone. He noticed that his wounds had been redressed. They didn't hurt quite so much now. The door opened. He didn't even glance up. He considered the beautiful Katherine's future. With resources such as she had perhaps he could persuade her to join forces with U.N.C.L.E. he sat up when the door closed again. No one had entered. He stood up on the bed and surveyed the floor. Nothing was disturbed. He checked the walls. He did a double take when he looked behind him. His collar was hanging on the wall. He touched his neck in disbelief. He was free. He sat down heavily. Free with no idea where he was. No idea who was in the house or where the scientists were being held. He walked over to the windows and looked out in amazement. The gardens were beautiful. Vast green lawns as far as the eye can see. To the left an orchard, to the right a lake. The verdant rolling hills in the distance turning to steep purple mountains. His heart wilted. This was paradise and he was escaping from it. The door opened again, Katherine entered she looked so forlorn. "You are free to go Illya if you wish. No one will hinder your escape in fact, my personal chauffeur will take you to the airport. This is no trap. Here is your ticket. One way to New York. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Illya Kuryakin." he looked at her and out the window again. "Perhaps I should stay for a few days, to investigate your operations for the purpose of a full report of course." she smiled. She locked the ticket and papers in the bureau by the wall. "I would be so pleased if you would. Tell me Illya do you play tennis?" he shook his head sadly. She stripped off her tennis dress in front of him for a buttoned blouse and casual skirt. Illya's mouth ran dry. He ran his eyes over her form. Pleated mauve skirt, short just above the knee. Pink blouse with a peter pan collar and a small brooch on the left collar. He stepped towards her and kissed her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist. Katherine looked up into his deep blue eyes. She looked at her feet and pushed him away. "Would you like to see the grounds?"

Napoleon excused himself to the bathroom on the plane. He opened his cigarette case and took out the radio concealed there. "Open channel d. urgent." Alexander Waverly entered the communications room. "Channel d open Mr Solo. What news?" Napoleon sighed. "I've just met Madame Katherine cooper's great niece en route to the reading of her will. Someone is using the deceased woman's name only. But this picture in the file is the girl I saw. The last day I saw Illya. Whereas this woman was in her nineties with a small cottage and a loyal butler. She is not the head of a multimillion dollar criminal organisation bent on world domination. We're back to square one. This girl may not even be in England. I'll make some enquiries with London's branch of U.N.C.L.E. but I fear these are more dead ends. Some one is going to ridiculous lengths to throw us from the scent.

Illya wandered the grounds with Katherine for the remainder of the afternoon. He apologised profusely for not playing tennis, he would very much have liked to see her in athletic competition. The orchard this time of year consisted of peach and plum trees leaving the air beautifully fragrant. The small black Papillion trotted along beside them. Illya had never walked through an orchard before. He reached up to touch the trees laden with summer fruit. She allowed him to wander aimlessly for a few hours inhaling the scent of the air. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately against the trunk of a tree. Katherine melted in his embrace. She sighed touching his cheek tenderly with her fingertips when they broke apart. She took his hand and led him through the orchard, past an ancient chapel to a man-made lake bordered by weeping willows. Katherine sat on the edge of the lake dipping her toes in the cool water. Illya lay across her with his head in her lap. She stroked his forehead and bent down to kiss him, "you know, I never thanked you for rescuing my puppy." Illya chuckled, "yes, Prince wasn't it? He seems very obedient. Why did he not return when you called him?" she blushed, "well, I may have told a little white lie to prevent him from coming to you." Illya looked at the puppy asleep on its back in the sun, "what lie?" she looked at the dog and shouted, "Prince!" nothing. She then called softly, "Sophie." the puppy looked up and bounded over wagging her tail. Illya laughed heartily. "Your little prince was really a princess." Sophie leapt onto Illya's chest knocking him off the steep bank and into the lake. Katherine dove in after him laughing. Their walk interrupted by an unscheduled swim, they lay on the bank to dry off in the sun. It pained Illya to lie by her knowing that he would soon have to leave, she did not roam far from his side. He was sure she did not fear his escape, there had been countless opportunities but he had not taken them. Her kisses were smooth and sweet like honey, every innocent touch set his blood on fire. He leaned towards her and caught her in a fast embrace, kissing along her collar bone causing sighs of pleasure and squeals of delight. Her fingers ran through his blond hair slightly longer than when he was first captured. He leaned in and licked her lips, feeling her writhe beneath him, fingers exploring his muscular back under his turtle neck. Hurriedly she pushed him backwards and rebuttoned her blouse. Illya looked around in surprise a little hurt that she no longer wanted his touch, he almost laughed. Katherine's maid carried a basket and rug down to the lakeside for their late lunch. Katherine smiled at her, "please join us, June." the maid smiled back shyly, "I'd like to Madame but I must be getting on with the housework. Some jobs cannot wait. The scientists will be requiring their lunch also." Katherine sighed and nodded, "very well then, I insist you join us for dinner. And please stop calling me Madame. My name is Katherine." she curtseyed, "yes Madame." As her maid scurried back towards the house Katherine threw her hands up in frustration. "That girl." she lay down on the rug Illya had spread on the floor. He picked through the basket. Bottle of wine, a few glasses. Loaf of hot bread wrapped in a tea towel. A rather odd shaped chicken that smelt of herbs in a crock pot and a large bowl of potato salad. A bowl of strawberries with fresh cream for dessert. She sat up looking at his face, "what's wrong Illya?" he picked up the crock pot, "this is a very strangely shaped chicken." she laughed, tore a leg off it and threw it to Sophie. "That is not a chicken. It's a pheasant. A game bird." He looked away from her his cheeks burning, "you must think I'm very simple." she leaned forward and kissed him cupping his growing erection through his trousers. Now it was really Illya's turn to blush. She shied away, "I don't think anything of the sort." He reached into the basket and pulled out the strawberries. He bit into one and kissed her again. The juice from the strawberry encouraging the exploration of his mouth. They broke apart gasping for air. He took another and teased her lips with it. She whimpered clutching him to her body. Illya laid her arms above her head. He did not bother to hold them he knew she would not move. Slowly he unbuttoned her blouse, her breath came quicker now. He teased her lips with the strawberry and freed one nipple from her lace brassiere with his other hand. He laid his head on her chest listening to her heartbeat race. His tongue flicked out over the exposed nipple. He savoured hearing her breath catch in her throat. He wrung pleasure out of the slightest caress. She clutched at him soon pulling him towards her desperately. Encouraged by her moans, he unzipped his fly and lifted her skirt. He pulled her into his lap. She squirmed against him, her body warm in his hands. Illya moaned. He slowly surrendered control to her, again allowing her to set the pace. His body was no longer his own. He could only feel pleasure. No hint of his ordeal now only the bandages on his wrists. She leaned forward forcing him backwards again. Illya took the opportunity and rolled her over to her back. She gazed up at him meeting his gentle thrusts with passionate cries. Illya took his weight on his forearms and whispered in her ear. She didn't speak Russian but his meaning was clear. His hushed erotic tone sent her over the edge. She clutched his shoulders raining kisses over his neck. His whispering in tandem with his slow steady strokes bringing on a second climax soon after the first. She gazed at his face as it contorted in pleasure. Illya kissed her lips slowly grinding against her as he did. She smiled at him. He smiled back. It had been intense almost like his first time. She mewed and writhed beneath him until he withdrew and helped her up. She reached into the basket and continued at the picnic as though nothing had transpired between them. Illya was impressed. My beautiful ice queen. He thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Napoleon sat in the office's of u.n.c.l.e's British division sipping tea and wishing it were coffee. The head of u.n.c.l.e's operations Mr. Christopher Connelly greeted him like a son. "Mr Connelly I'm going to need the co operation of all of u.n.c.l.e's British agents for the rescue of Illya Kuryakin. A fellow u.n.c.l.e. operative who has been missing in the line of duty for the duration of five weeks. Feared dead." Mr Connelly leaned back in his chair and lit his cigarette. He inhaled slowly, "no leads in the U.S. is this what resulted in our London attack." Napoleon stubbed out his own cigarette. "Yes sir. He is one of our top agents. We were anxious to locate him as quickly as possible. I have this photo of a woman using a false name who lured Mr Kuryakin away and we believe kidnapped him. Then disappeared of the face of the earth. Tell me, have you ever heard of the mad dogs?" The old man shook his head, "can't say that I have. Better show me that picture lad." his face grew dark when he glanced the face, "is this some kind of joke! Get out of my office stop wasting my time. I'm putting in a call to your superior Mr Waverly at once. Julie my dear open channel A. for new York's offices." Napoleon was thrown out onto the street in a vague state of shock. He took out his cigarette case as it alarmed, "channel d." he winced, Waverly sounded very angry. "Napoleon Solo. Report back to New York as soon as possible. I hope you've got a very good explanation for this." the channel disconnected. Napoleon winced it was a long flight. He was met by U.N.C.L.E. agents at the airport. From the cab he was shoved into a holding cell again.

Illya woke in the soft bed sunlight peeking around the drapes. Dinner last night was a formal occasion. The maid, June and the butler, Henry, whom he had not previously met but had a feeling had been his principle tormentor had attended. Roasted venison with fried onion. Baked tomatoes and potatoes with herbs. Dessert was a rich chocolate mousse with fresh cream. He wrapped his arms around Katherine smelling her hair. He had washed it for her as they shared a bath following dinner. The scent of her soap arousing feelings such as he had never perceived. He wanted to protect her from the world but at the same time keep her hidden away only for himself. She murmured in her sleep, their epic lovemaking last night had tired her out. She had shivered when he had whispered in her ear that it was his policy to be very thorough. And he had. She moaned and cried out for hours before he gave in to his carnal urges taking her as roughly as she would allow, she screamed his name into the night. Her breathing changed and he realised she had already woken. Illya turned Katherine's face around to meet him, "what is bothering you?" she pulled away from him and walked to the window the sun illuminating her pale blue negligee. "My plan must move forward. I am afraid I must return you to your organisation. Oh Illya, I don't want you to go. But I cannot keep you here." she turned back towards him. She sat on the bed next to him and unbandaged his wrists. They had healed superbly no trace of the torturous bindings remained. Illya was struck by an immense feeling of loss. He would probably never see her again, he was crestfallen. She threw her arms around him and kissed him. His face was awash with confusion. "I've reconsidered your offer. I would be delighted to stay here with you to watch you rule the world. I will be your slave and bodyguard. You need never be lonely again." she looked deep into his eyes, tears welling. "I love you, Illya Kuryakin." she turned his hand over and stabbed him in the palm with a needle. He looked up at her in a mix of confusion and panic as his world turned dark and he fell to the floor.

Napoleon was escorted from his cell by Agnes and Susanne. They were heavily armed and neither would speak to him. Alarms began to sound. Agents ran in all different directions. The girls ran to the front office Napoleon followed them. A large crate was delivered to Del Floria addressed to Napoleon Solo. x- ray equipment had revealed a lead interior. All agents surrounded the box weapons drawn. A small line of plastic explosive was wound around the hinges of the crate. "Take cover." Mr Waverly called. BOOM. The sound ricochet off the walls. Smoke filled the room. Napoleon looked into the crate and laughed. Illya lay bound and gagged. All the female personnel rushed to his aid. Solo stopped laughing. Inside the crate was an envelope Mr Waverly picked it up, opened it with caution and laughed at the photo inside. He pocketed it and called Napoleon into his office. He would not speak to him until Illya was present. Illya, cleared by the doctors was escorted up by the nurses. He sat in Mr Waverly's office looking very pleased with himself. "Gentlemen," he began tamping down the tobacco in his pipe. "This has been a long and arduous ordeal for us all and I think now is the time to share information." Napoleon shrugged, "there's not a lot I can tell you, sir. I don't think I've ever drunk so much in my life. I'm glad to have you back my friend. You don't look too worse for wear." Illya shrugged, "you'd never believe me if I told you." Napoleon gestured around the room, "try me. " Illya nodded. "If you insist. I was kidnapped and tortured by a beautiful, charming young woman, the head of a worldwide crime organisation, no less, who wanted me as her lover and pet." Napoleon scoffed. "You?" Illya's smug grin spread from ear to ear. "Me." Napoleon turned to Waverly, "obviously Illya has deluded himself during the course of his capture to protect his fragile mind. Ow!" he glared at Illya after he kicked him under the table. "but what I don't understand sir was, the total lack of information regarding this woman until last week and the British head of U.N.C.L.E., Mr Connelly's rage when I showed him the photo." Waverly pressed a button on the desk. "Send her in, Noreen." Katherine cooper walked in a fetching green tennis dress and white running shoes. She approached Mr Waverly warmly and embraced him. "Mr Solo this is my niece and Mr Connelly's daughter, Miss Katherine Connelly. I believe Mr Kuryakin has already had the pleasure."

Illya blanched picturing her naked form writhing beneath him and calling his name. Napoleon looked her up and down, then at Illya and finally back to Miss Connelly "yes sir. Bastard. miss." he kissed her hand and bowed. Waverly pulled out her chair for her to be seated. "Mr Kuryakin you won't believe how difficult it is to convince you to take a week's holiday. Knowing that we had to kidnap you, torture you and keep you chained to a wall to ensure your holiday was taken." Kuryakin nodded his demeanour slightly deflated. "The mad dogs don't exist. Katherine cooper doesn't exist. And you are not the head of a global crime empire." she shook her head, "no, sorry to disappoint you. Did you enjoy Switzerland, my Illya? That was my family's summer home. If you would like to stay there again minus the pit of course. I'm sure it could be arranged." her eyes twinkled with the unspoken promise of further encounters. Kuryakin smiled taking her hand in his and staring into her eyes, "it was very beautiful but I have had my holiday. Perhaps you would care to stay here a while I must admit through out my capture I did grow fond of the view." she blushed and stroked his hair out of his eyes. Napoleon booted him under the table violently. Katherine left with her uncle's escort back to the airport. Napoleon and Illya watched the plane take off waving as she left. He turned to Illya, "you utter creep. All the girls in the typing pool."

Illya laughed, "And the translators and the secretaries. But you know I thought I had something special with that one. Perhaps I'll tell you another time. Or perhaps not."


End file.
